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Tweaking the Mommasan
My dad was back in the hospital on Tuesday. He had ANOTHER heart cath. His third in four weeks. The man's ticker is slowly turning into a machine with all of the tubes and stints they keep installing in him.
I just talked to him a minute ago and he sounds like he's doing great. He even baked Leslie a batch of oatmeal cookies.
Not to worry, it's not like anything bad will happen ever to the VespaWarrior.
While he was having the procedure done, I got sentenced had the opportunity to perform waiting room duty with my mom. Usually that's Leslie's thing. Les does "hospital" well. She handles herself like the medical pro she is. She knows the doctors and can speak their language, then she can interpret the doctorspeak back over to my mom. In a clear, slow manner.
It's a time-tested system that they've developed over the years that works.
Well Leslie wasn't available Tuesday, I was.
Too bad for my mom.
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After the cath procedure was finished, my mom and I followed as the nurse pushed my dermerol-riddled dad back to his room. He was in and out of consciousness, hazy, hardly lucid.
He'd mumble something and then fade back out.
At one point in our walk back, my mom said "Ah jus' hate that feelin'. That drunky-drunk feelin'. Don't You?" With the sincerity of a televangelist I answered back "Oh by all means. There is simply nothing I hate worse than a good old, warm, carefree, drunky-drunk feeling. Oh the horror."
You've probably figured out that my folks are teetotalers. Actually they'll have a closet beer when nobody is looking, but what say we keep that our secret.
That drunky-drunk feeling, it just isn't "propah".
3/17/2005 08:04:00 PM
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